Fallen Idol (Love and Music in Texas Book 4)
Page 33
"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "The shot was just so good..."
The shot? She'd ruined hours upon hours of exhausting work because she'd wanted a picture? Who the hell would do something so stupid?
Only a damn greenhorn.
For the first time he noticed her get-up. A straw hat only a city girl would wear, floaty pink top with tiny straps that left her bare shoulders exposed to the unforgiving Arizona sun, cut-off jean shorts and red cowboy boots. Daisy Duke personified. He shook his head in disgust.
Reality crashed over him.
The New York photographer his mother had enticed out here, hoping an article in The Cowboy magazine would bring attention to the Santa Gertrudis cattle they raised.
Damn.
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If you need a little more country music in your life, then check out Tasting Nashville by Kimmie Easley.
Blurb
When Joselyn Tillman finds herself alone, she decides to throw caution to the wind and shoot for the stars. After packing up everything she owns, Joselyn wrangles herself a job at The Bone Picker, which just happens to be the local hangout for the country music industry. When the stars align and fate places her in the path of the swoon worthy Steve Diesel, head of his own label, Joselyn believes she's finally on her way to the big time.
Everything is on track until the handsome, Country Rock heartthrob, Dean Covington, derails her plan. With a gentleman's heart to match his huge muscles, Dean invites Joselyn to move in until she can get on her feet. As they find themselves under the same roof, tension mounts, anger flares, and attraction is undeniable, leaving Joselyn with a choice to make.
Her contract and Steve? Or her heart and Dean?
Excerpt
A knock at the door startled her, sending her stumbling over the side of the bathtub. She scrambled to a standing position with her backside, and her pride, slightly bruised.
The knocking continued. She wrapped herself in a towel and separated the blinds to take a peek.
Dean.
"What do you want?"
"Shit, Joselyn! I've been trying to track you down all damn day! Open the fucking door!"
She looked again. He had his palms placed on the corners of the door frame. Her own hands trembling. She was pissed at him for standing outside of her door, and pissed at herself for thinking he looked good enough to eat.
"Leave me alone, Dean. It was one drunk night, and now you don't owe me anything. Your conscience is clear." Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought about the way she had tiptoed out of the house.
"Dammit, woman! I'm not kidding. You might say that's all it meant to you, but I call bullshit. Open the damn door, and tell me to my face that you don't want to see me."
She slumped against the wall. Confused.
"Please, Joselyn. I've been all over God's country looking for you. Let me know you're ok. Please open the door." His tone changed. He wasn't angry. He was genuinely concerned.
Her hand touched the chain.
"I'm not leaving until you talk to me. I'm ready to camp outside your door." Pain dripped from his shaky words.
She unlocked the door and backed away when she saw the knob turn.
He filled the doorway with his broad shoulders. The twisted look on his face shocked Joselyn, with his furrowed brow and disheveled appearance.
"Let me put some clothes on." She disappeared into the bathroom. Her breathing hitched and she could see her heart hammering against her chest. "How the hell did you find me anyway?" She hollered from the other room.
"I've been driving around all day looking for that damn purple car of yours. I drove by this motel earlier today with no luck. Glad I decided to give it a second look. I even hit up all the trucks stops and rest areas in the area."
Joselyn threw on a Bone Picker T-shirt and pair of Soffee shorts. Her knees almost gave out when she saw Dean resting in the dilapidated chair next to the tiny round table.
"Why would you have checked those kind of places?" She asked.
He looked up at her through thick lashes. He had pulled his ball cap down to his brow. "Come on. I'm not trying to embarrass you. You know why I would check the truck stops."
She stared at him. She didn't even blink. How could he know?
He stood up and closed the gap between them. The way his jeans hung from his hips made her insides twitch. A dark gray tank top hugged his chest. He tipped her face up to look at him. "I know you were sleeping in your car. I saw the pillow and blanket when I ran into you the other night."
She pulled her chin from his grasp and squeezed her eyes shut.
"Don't do that. Don't be embarrassed. No one is immune to hard times." Dean enveloped her in his inked up arms. Planting a soft kiss on top of her head, he pressed her face to his chest. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad, sugar. It's dangerous out there. I'm worried about you."
He knew. She had tried so hard not to let people find out her dirty little secret. The tears that had been pooling in the corners of her eyes finally spilled over, dampening Dean's shirt. Her cry was muffled against his hard chest, but he simply held her tighter.
He backed up, sat on the bed and pulled Joselyn onto his lap. She didn't try to fight it any longer. She curled up into a ball and no longer tried to stifle her tears. She sobbed, not giving it a second thought that Dean was rocking her limp body like a baby, trying to soothe her pain, as well as her wounded pride. Everything from losing her mother to being homeless was taking a toll on her emotions.
"Sugar, let it out. You're not alone anymore. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
She sobbed harder.
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If you enjoy sports themed romance, check out Playing Without Rules by Rachelle Ayala.
Blurb
A ballplayer's girlfriend hides his daughter from him because she fears he's like his abusive father.
Excerpt
"The thing about ballplayers is they're players." Marcia Powers twisted the stem of a maraschino cherry around the tip of her tongue and eyed the swaggering baseball players descending on her bar, The Hot Corner, in metropolitan Phoenix.
"You should be thankful for spring training." Her business partner and best girlfriend, Jeanine Jewell, adjusted her stance at the counter to best position her bounteous breasts. "Keeps the tab rolling and the money flowing."
"Not to mention the groupie traffic." Marcia sniffed, but cleared her face in time to smile and take orders from the men in business suits idling at the bar. Their attention was split between the ballplayers and the women. Probably scouts sizing up players for pre-season trades.
The traffic was definitely good for business and made up for the dry times. Phoenix was the spring training home to fifteen off-season baseball teams. It hadn't always been this way, but the dry spring weather and lower real estate costs than California made Arizona attractive enough to draw the franchises as well as provide affordable games for locals and tourists alike.
Marcia passed a tray of girlie cocktails to Jeanine who sashayed past the businessmen to the booth bubbling over with blondes and booze. Jeanine, ever the flirt, bent low in front of the players' roving eyes. Leers from the men and sneers from the babes followed in her wake.
Jeanine would have her fill until the ballplayers moved back to their major league cities, collecting one-night stands like baseball cards. Somehow, she was impervious to being hurt. From the moment the umpire yelled, "Play Ball!" in the opening game to the closing fireworks show signifying the end of spring training, Jeanine played: infielders, outfielders, pitch and catch with an occasional trainer or coach thrown in for good measure.
"So, who's in your field of dreams?" A deep, throaty voice drawled so close to Marcia's ear she almost dropped the whiskey tumbler she was polishing.
Her breath hitched as she jerked around in time to see Brock Carter's leer dissolve into a grin. "What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me?"
"Ordering a drink, and it's good to see you again."
It definitely wasn't good seeing him-a troublemaker and heartbreaker-especially since the heart he'd trampled on was, at this moment, beating to break out of her ribcage like an excited puppy leaping for a doggie treat.
"I thought you were traded to the minors, what was that team again?" Marcia hoped her voice wouldn't give away the urge she had to leap over the bar counter and either punch him in the balls or sock him one in the kisser-ruin his action for any other female stupid enough to be sucked in by those misty green bedroom eyes and smooth downhome Southern drawl.
"Minor setback." He cracked his knuckles and licked his lips. "But I'm back in a big way, and somehow I knew I'd catch you right here, where it all started."
Arrogant dick. As if he'd known she'd never leave town, never live the dreams she had years ago before her father's retirement required her to take over the bar, never have the ideal family she'd pictured with a husband manning the BBQ and children playing in the pool.
"Order your drink and get it over with." She didn't want to be rude to customers, but Brock Carter was in a different league altogether. He'd certainly filled in since he left town years ago. Sandy-colored hair poked from under his baseball cap. His freckled face was more rugged, sporting a manly cleft while his muscles strained solid under his practice jersey.
Brock shifted his weight, still leaning over the counter, his forearms flexing. "Buy you a screaming orgasm."
Marcia swallowed as unbidden images of just how hard she and Brock had strained over and under and around the sheets threatened to undermine her outward calm.
She desperately scanned the tables for Jeanine. Her friend would put Brock in his place-give him a polite nod before shooing him off. She knew what damage Brock had done and why Marcia could not ever let him know her secret.
"I take that as a 'yes'." Brock pinched her elbow.
Marcia jerked away from the counter as if she'd touched an electric fence. "Take your screaming whatever and drink it yourself. I'm working."
His bushy eyebrows lowered, Brock's chin took that stubborn set she knew only too well. "What's with you, Marsh? I would have thought five years was enough for you to get over whatever snit you had against me."
"I've nothing against you." Marcia sidled around the counter to the beer taps. She wasn't the type to hold a guy from his dreams. Since they didn't involve her and the situation she found herself in, good riddance. She'd do it all herself, and she had.
Marcia made eye contact with the businessmen, who obliged by ordering another round of drinks, especially since a couple of groupies had moved from the players to the suits.
All the while, Brock remained a large, hulking shadow looming under the restroom signs. Out of the corner of her eye, Marcia saw Jeanine serve him a longneck. Minutes ticked by, but he stayed in his spot, solitary, unresponsive to any female or male brave enough to invade his territory.
Jeanine swung behind the counter and nudged her. "What's he doing here?"
"Can't you get rid of him?"
"Tried already." Jeanine tugged at her bra strap. "He looks pissed. Do you think?"
A shot of panic pumped up Marcia's pulse. Could he have found out her secret?
"He can't know," Marcia said.
"Why not?" Jeanine's eyebrow quirked, and she put a hand on her hip. "Isn't it about time you let him in on it?"
"He'll only hurt her."
"Maybe not. A girl needs a daddy, and your father's too old to be a real one for her."
Marcia closed her eyes, breathing in and out, all too aware of the heated gaze burning into her back. "Just so you remember: Bianca is my little sister. My father is her father. I'm her aunt."
"So you say." Jeanine glanced at Brock who lifted his empty bottle. "Looks like he's not leaving until closing time. Let me find out what he's been up to."
"Go ahead and play him." Marcia huffed. "I don't mind."
Jeanine primped her hair and tucked a pencil over her ear. "Game's wide open. I'm onto it."
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Praise for the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
About The Author
Tis The Season for Forgiving
Cowboy Bred, Cowboy Born
Tasting Nashville
Playing Without Rules